09-05-2022, 11:40 PM
it's under the cover of darkness, with only the twin eyes of lonos above to light her way, that gemini slips the collar of the court. there's a soft shuffle of constables as they move and adjust their stances, just on the other side of the rock she slithers by. but they never notice, never cast a gaze far enough to the shadows to really see her. ( and, truly, who does see her? her and not her rank, her and not looking beyond her for a sister or mother? ) in this moment ( as in many ) it serves her well and a slow smile creeps across her white lips as she leaves the high court and all its heavy expectations behind. a sister with entirely too much on her shoulders, a mother with more grief than sense, and two courts who want nothing more than to be set free.
she can sympathize with that notion.
once she's out of sight, the royal eases into a steady lope: long legs stretched to their limits, extended claws keeping her from sliding too much on the slick terrain of the steppe. she's long since shed her trinkets, her jewelry and her shawl left behind, and for a long moment she feels like nothing more than a vagrant. how quaint a notion. of them all, she supposes she would be the one to turn. the last daughter born on the very night the world fell to fucking ruin - the meteor striking true as her mother pushed her into the country just as they lost so, so much.
omenborn, they say behind her back, now, ( their back; because even hollyhock isn't immune to the judgement. ) where once the threat of an angry matriarch might have been enough to deter them. but not any long. their ire has stirred, their awareness of their so-called leader's absence obvious. but gemini shoulders it with all the impassive grace she wields like a weapon. it's easy to play the part expected of you. it always has been.
but out here she can pretend, for but a moment, to be nothing less than a mindless beast. and she stretches her legs further, pushing harder, as she launches herself to the edge of the geyser field. stopping only when one burbles to life before her and she explodes through it with a sharp, bright peel of laughter. it catches her long tendrils of fur, curling them further, and leaving her vaguely damp; but it's warm enough that she doesn't fret. she can always dry herself, should she need, after all.
Pyr
she can sympathize with that notion.
once she's out of sight, the royal eases into a steady lope: long legs stretched to their limits, extended claws keeping her from sliding too much on the slick terrain of the steppe. she's long since shed her trinkets, her jewelry and her shawl left behind, and for a long moment she feels like nothing more than a vagrant. how quaint a notion. of them all, she supposes she would be the one to turn. the last daughter born on the very night the world fell to fucking ruin - the meteor striking true as her mother pushed her into the country just as they lost so, so much.
omenborn, they say behind her back, now, ( their back; because even hollyhock isn't immune to the judgement. ) where once the threat of an angry matriarch might have been enough to deter them. but not any long. their ire has stirred, their awareness of their so-called leader's absence obvious. but gemini shoulders it with all the impassive grace she wields like a weapon. it's easy to play the part expected of you. it always has been.
but out here she can pretend, for but a moment, to be nothing less than a mindless beast. and she stretches her legs further, pushing harder, as she launches herself to the edge of the geyser field. stopping only when one burbles to life before her and she explodes through it with a sharp, bright peel of laughter. it catches her long tendrils of fur, curling them further, and leaving her vaguely damp; but it's warm enough that she doesn't fret. she can always dry herself, should she need, after all.
Pyr